


When Harry Met Sev

by AnneCaterina



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Healing, Other, Reconciliation, Redemption, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:20:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24452788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnneCaterina/pseuds/AnneCaterina
Summary: After the battle, Harry wanted nothing more than peace and quiet. But a letter puts an end to his much-needed refuge.
Relationships: Severus Snape/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	When Harry Met Sev

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Return of the Prince](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20528471) by [AnneCaterina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnneCaterina/pseuds/AnneCaterina). 
  * Inspired by [Return of the Prince](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20528471) by [AnneCaterina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnneCaterina/pseuds/AnneCaterina). 



> This is a one-shot following most of the events of my story "Return of the Prince". Hence, it contains spoilers for that story, so make sure to read it first before you read this one :)

When the vulture came to him, Harry had been walking along an almost undiscernible dirt road underneath the Nevada sun. The vulture shouldn’t have been able to see him. The only birds that Harry allowed to find him were those carrying letters from Hermione, Ron, and Ginny. If his friends came to look for him themselves, they wouldn’t see him even if they stood an inch from him. Being chased by the most dangerous dark wizard of all times made you good at hiding.

All that Harry had craved after the Battle of Hogwarts was to disappear. One hour longer in the eyes of the entire wizarding world, one more moment of being the centre of one of the greatest conflicts of modern wizardkind, and he would have died. Possibly of exhaustion, but more likely of the wildfire of emotions inside him. Harry had said his goodbyes to Ron and Hermione, and even Ginny and had left Hogwarts. His first and only stop within the wizarding world had be Gringotts. He’d taken a large pouch’s worth of gold out of his vault and had fled the country.

His destination was anywhere quiet and sparsely populated. He had gone to Russia first, had made his way through forests, along fields and over mountains into Asia. He had crossed the Australian continent and gone to New Zealand. From there, he had taken a plane to Chili and had made his way up to North America. He used Muggle transportation to cross larger distances and otherwise walked, his speed sometimes magically enhanced. But he enjoyed it most when he just walked without magic. It made him feel at peace.

He’d had to be strong, carry on, survive, be “The Boy Who lived” for almost half of his life. He had suppressed all his own needs for so, so long that he wasn’t sure who he even was anymore. Time alone with himself was what he needed. Away from people, away from wizards, away from even his friends.

He’d grown a beard, swapped his glasses for contact lenses, grown his hair out. The entire wizarding world had seen his photo often enough for him to be recognized anywhere. But no more. On top of his changed appearance, there were the disguising charms. They were near-perfect when dealing with humans. But animals might see through them.

But now, his precious refuge was threatened by a bird of prey. At first, Harry had tried to ignore the vulture, had chalked its presence up to coincidence. But the animal was always on his tracks. Sometimes, Harry saw it sitting on a rock, as if it knew which path he was going to take before he himself knew. Other times, a shadow would flit over the ground and, when Harry looked up into the glaring desert sky, he saw the vulture circling above him.

As the days went by, Harry’s hope that the vulture would be gone when he came out of his tent in the morning grew more and more desperate. But without change, the bird would wait for him. On the evening of the fifth day, Harry could not take it anymore. With a slash of his wand, he removed his disguise and shouted at the vulture, “What do you want with me?” His voice was hoarse with disuse.

To Harry’s great surprise, the bird took to flight, hastily, startled. Had it not been waiting for him to reveal himself? Had it all been a coincidence after all? Had it even been the same vulture all this time? Harry looked up. The vulture was circling the sky over him once again. After a moment, it came down and landed before Harry’s feet. It stuck out its leg, to which a tiny, tightly rolled scroll of parchment was attached. There was no denying it anymore. The vulture was here for Harry.

He didn’t dare to touch the animal with its sharp beak and lively eyes, so, he summoned the parchment. The second the parchment left its leg, the vulture took off again, slowly and deliberately this time, and landed on a nearby rock. It did not let Harry out of its sight. Uneasy, Harry turned slightly away from the bird, so he could still see it, but could shield the letter from its view. It was silly – vultures couldn’t read. But the bird was unsettling.

Harry unrolled the parchment. It was empty. Harry turned it over, held it up against the sunlight, held it close to his face. There was nothing on there. Had the bird been a trick to make him drop his disguise, the parchment merely a distraction to keep him busy while the danger was closing in? Hastily, Harry restored all the protection charms. The vulture on its rock showed no reaction. For good measure, Harry decided to burn the parchment. He put the tip of his wand to it and was about to say the incantation, when words appeared on the light brown paper.

_Identifying… Harry Potter_

Harry took his wand away, startled. The handwriting seemed familiar. The words disappeared and made room for others.

_Dear Harry,_

_Firstly, I would like to apologize for interrupting the peace you are undoubtedly craving. But a matter has come up that requires your intervention. I don’t know if the news has reached you yet, but Severus Snape has come back to life._

Harry read and re-read that sentence. Snape, come back to life? Had he been on Voldemort’s side after all – had he, too, made Horcruxes? Would it all start all over again? Harry felt a scream rising up in his throat. He couldn’t, he was done, burned out. He could not play saviour yet again. Why were they doing this to him? Couldn’t they get someone else?

Harry read on, just to get it over with.

_Severus has made great efforts to work through his past and redeem himself. He is working with a healer and has made great progress._

Wait, what? That did not sound like Snape. At least not the Snape Harry had known in his six years at Hogwarts. The memories Harry had seen in the Pensieve after Snape’s death pushed themselves into his mind, but Harry shut them away again. He resumed reading the letter.

_Unfortunately, someone has fed the press information on Severus’ past. They disclosed details of Severus’ role in the Wizarding War that even I was not aware of. The Daily Prophet, among others, keeps running articles revealing increasingly damaging information about Severus._

_Harry, you are the only one who witnessed Severus’ last moments first-hand and truly knows why he acted the way he did. The press are running wild with speculations about how Severus would have wanted nothing more than to see you dead; that it was his life’s ambition. _

_We have been housing Severus at the school for the past six months and I have done everything in my power to help him. Hence, those press articles don’t only severely threaten Severus’ progress, but they also wreak havoc on the reputation of Hogwarts. If his name is not cleared, our school will go down with him._

_For these reasons, Harry, I implore you to come back and clear up these horrible rumours. Please use the geolocator spell on this parchment. You will then be immediately transported to Hogwarts._

_Until then, I remain_

_Truly Yours,  
Minerva McGonagall_

Harry read the letter three more times. He’d almost believed it was real. Until the part where whoever had sent this to him had so clumsily tried to coax his location out of him. It had to be a trick. Or a very, very stupid prank. Who would do such a thing? It did seem to be McGonagall’s handwriting, though. But that could be forged. And why would they make up such a laughable story? No one could come back from the dead, not unless they had a Horcrux.

Although it had been clever of the prankster to use Snape of all people. Harry had hated the man all his time at Hogwarts, up until his former professor had died at the hands of Lord Voldemort. Only afterwards had Harry learned the truth: That Snape had held a deep love for Lily, Harry’s mother. That Snape had unwittingly caused Lily’s death. That he had spent the rest of his life trying to repent, by fighting Voldemort from deep within the dark wizard’s circles. In the end, Snape had been instrumental to Voldemort’s defeat by Harry’s hands.

Harry had buried all of this deep inside his mind. But now, the memories were back. And with them, his contradicting feelings about Snape. On one hand, the man had lived his life in service of Dumbledore, dedicating himself to destroying Voldemort. He had been a double agent, never out of danger. But then again, Snape had brought all this on himself. No one had forced him to become a Death Eater in the first place, had they? But he had been bullied, treated like dirt by Harry’s own father and apparently, also Snape’s father, and thereby driven onto the dark path. And he’d only followed that for a short while. As soon as Snape had learned that Lily was in danger, he’d returned to Dumbledore, in deep remorse.

Harry groaned. This was exactly what he had been trying to get away from, the circling thoughts and emotions. He had planned on dealing with this some other time. He had wanted to postpone to some later time his decision on whether Snape was a hero or just a vile person who had done one good thing. But this bloody letter had sent his thoughts reeling again, just like they had after the battle. Harry had hoped that he could distract himself enough by walking the most punishing trails on the planet. And it had worked. Until now.

But it didn’t matter, did it? It wasn’t true, it couldn’t be. Snape wasn’t alive again, it was impossible. This only left one question: Why would someone play such a cruel joke on Harry, shaking him up in his time of dire need for peace and quiet? At least now, the stupid vulture would go away, having done its wicked deed.

Harry lay awake on his cot, fuming with anger about whoever had sent that letter. The next morning, the heat woke him up. He reapplied his heat protection and disguising charms and crawled out of his tent. The vulture was still there. Sitting in the same position on the same rock. A primordial scream escaped Harry’s throat while he ran towards the rock at top speed, his wand stretched out before him. The bird didn’t move. Harry screamed at it until his voice gave out. He shoved it, but it just readjusted itself and kept staring at him. Finally, Harry grabbed the bird and threw it into the air. For a second, Harry got scared that he had gone too far, that the vulture would attack him. But it lazily flapped its wings and landed at Harry’s feet again. Harry sat down and started sobbing. “Go away,” he said feebly, without hope. “Leave me alone. Please.”

The vulture became his unwanted companion. It was always there, always following Harry, unchanging. Harry carried the letter with him. He didn’t know why he didn’t destroy it, but somehow, he couldn’t take it in his hands again. He thought of nothing but the person who had sent it to him. Who? Why? His thoughts went in circles around those two questions, until they became a never-ceasing mantra.

He finally realized that going on with his journey was pointless. He was just as tortured by the aftermath of the war here as he would have been back at home. All thanks to this bloody letter. He had to find out who wrote it. And then make sure they’d never have a peaceful moment in their life again. He took the parchment out of his pocket, turned a dry stick into a pencil and scribbled “I’m coming for you!” in the most menacing handwriting he could muster. The moment he tapped the parchment to roll itself up, the vulture landed at his feet. Angrily, Harry tied the letter to its leg. “There you have it! Now piss off!”

The vulture took off into the dawning morning. As it flew higher, Harry threw an incantation at it, a simple trace that would allow him to follow it. He walked for a few hours in the direction that the vulture had taken. It had been going east, back to where Harry had come from. He knew these parts well enough to apparate. When he reckoned that the bird had covered a good distance, he used his wand to point to where the vulture was now. Apparating a few dozen miles at a time, Harry closed the distance between himself and the bird until he got too tired to go on.

The next morning, Harry checked again in which direction the bird was. His wand now pointed north-east. The vulture had flown to a part of the country that Harry hadn’t been to before.

It took him days to follow the bird using Muggle transportation. Eventually, he hit an obstacle he could not overcome so easily. The Atlantic Ocean. He checked again and again, but his wand pointed east yet again. Was a stupid prank worth crossing the ocean? But Harry’s peace was gone, he could just as well go home. Maybe once he had found the prankster and had given them what they deserved, he could pick up his solitary journey again. He booked a flight to London.

It was morning when he arrived, thoroughly tired. He didn’t dare to go near Diagon Alley, so he took a room in a dingy Muggle hotel and immediately went to sleep. He awoke in the afternoon. Still groggy, he nonetheless continued his journey. He had to find the misguided prankster. He asked his wand again where the bird was. After almost a week, the trace was wearing thin and his wand took a long time to decide on a direction. North.

So, Harry went north, Apparating when he could, using Muggle transportation when he had to. The landscape started to look familiar. Could it be? Had a Hogwarts student the means to plan and execute such an elaborate prank? Harry wouldn’t put it past Malfoy to do something like this, but after what Malfoy had gone through in their sixth year at Hogwarts, after the way his parents had looked when they were reunited with their son, Harry doubted that Malfoy had any energy or interest left to conduct childish pranks. Besides, Malfoy was not at Hogwarts anymore. Hermione or Ginny would have mentioned that in their letters to Harry.

The prankster being at Hogwarts posed another, bigger problem – Harry would have to go into the school. He could get in undetected using his invisibility cloak. But then what? How could he corner them, confront them, without revealing himself? Harry hadn’t thought that far ahead.

Maybe he should go and see McGonagall first. After all, she was a victim of this prank too. It was early in the morning and Harry was starting to get tired again. He had napped on his last train for an hour or so, but his inner clock was completely off. Maybe, if he went immediately, he could catch McGonagall in her office before lessons started. Harry had a feeling that the Headmistress was an early riser. He extracted the invisibility cloak from his backpack, put it on and Apparated to the borders of Hogwarts.

After he arrived, he took a moment to look towards the castle. All signs of damage had vanished. The forest was green and lush. Harry’s heart gave a twinge. There was Hagrid’s hut, smoke rising from the chimney. Harry had a mad urge to go there and knock on the door. Ask for tea and a rock cake. Be slobbered on by Fang. But Hagrid would pass out. Also, he would probably be so overwhelmed with joy that he’d accidentally blurt out that Harry was back to the first person he met. Harry chuckled quietly. There’d be a time to visit Hagrid, but it was not now.

Harry strode through the grounds. Halfway to the castle entrance, he stopped short. There was someone else outside, running towards the castle on a path to Harry’s right. Their calm, steady pace didn’t look like they were in a hurry, though. And they weren’t wearing robes. Harry slowly started walked again, not letting the running person out of his sight. When the person came closer, Harry saw that they were wearing sports clothes and trainers. It was a young woman. She looked a little too old to be a student, though. Probably one of the new teachers. Harry gave her time to reach the castle entrance before him, but only by a little. Despite himself, he was curious about this new professor. He slipped into the entrance hall before the door could fall to. The young woman’s sneakers made plasticky noises as she walked over the ancient stone floors of Hogwarts, still panting a little from her run. She took the direction of the staircase that led to the dungeons. Something clicked in Harry’s brain. She had to be the new Potions Professor.

Harry sneaked up the stairs towards the Headmistress’ office. Only when he stood before the gargoyles did he realize that he needed a password. “Um… Fizzing Whizzbee?” he tried.

The gargoyle closest to Harry opened its eyes. “Who said that?” it demanded, then stretched out its stony arms and groped around in the air with its claws. Harry dropped the hood of his cloak. “It’s me, Harry. Harry Potter,” he whispered, although he wasn’t sure whether the gargoyle remembered him or cared. To Harry’s surprise, however, the gargoyle and his twin leapt aside, revealing the spiral staircase. Still unsure what just had happened, Harry climbed the stairs.

His heart was beating hard and he could hear his blood rushing in his ears. This was it. He’d see McGonagall again, for the first time after he had practically fled the battlefield, driven by his all-consuming desire to be alone and not talk about Voldemort or the war or himself for a very, very long time. He lifted his hand and knocked twice.

“Come in,” McGonagall’s voice sounded from inside. Harry took off the cloak and pressed down the door handle. “Yes, please?” McGonagall said impatiently when Harry slowly opened the door, dreading her reaction.

She stared at him for a short moment. Then, recognition dawned on her face and she clapped her hand to her mouth. Harry had never seen his former head of house get emotional like that. “Harry!” she said. “I had almost given up hope that you would come!”

“Come? Did you expect me?” Harry asked, bewildered.

“Of course.” Her brow creased, the emotion gone from her face. There she was, the McGonagall Harry knew. “You replied to my letter, didn’t you?”

“What… _your_ letter?”

“Yes, Harry, my letter. It bore my seal and my signature. I’d expect you to recognize both after six years at this school _and_ in my house.”

Harry sat down on one of the chairs in front of her desk, his legs suddenly too weak to support him. “So, it really was from you?”

“I thought we’d established that. I would have also expected you to come much sooner than this!”

“Wait, no… Does that mean that Snape really is alive?”

McGonagall didn’t snap this time. Apparently, she could appreciate that Harry had trouble believing this. She didn’t even correct him to say ‘Professor Snape’.”

“Yes, Severus is alive. Before you ask, no one knows how and why he came back, himself included.”

Harrys eyebrows drew together. He was ready to voice his strong opinion that Snape did, in fact, know quite well how he had come back when the look on McGonagall’s face arrested him.

“I can almost see your thoughts, Harry. But you can trust me on this. If you had seen him as I have these past months, you would believe it too.”

Harry shook his head. Something here was completely upside down. But he’d get back to that. “Why did you need me here, exactly?” he asked.

“Well, actually, the situation has become a lot less urgent. But nonetheless it would be of great service if you could clear some things up once and for all.”

“ _Less urgent_? So, you ordered me here to clear up a grave situation, but somehow, that situation has now _solved itself_?” His voice was rising.

“Do not yell at me, Harry! After all, you were the one who waited almost a month to come here.”

“I was in America!” Harry jumped up from his chair.

“And had you used the geolocator spell on the parchment, like I instructed you to do, you would have been transported back here in an instant, no matter where you were.”

“Oh, right! I wasn’t going to tell my location to a piece of parchment!”

“And why on earth not, Harry? Especially when Hogwarts needed you?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because I spent a good part of my life being hunted by the darkest wizard of all time?! Stuff like that can make a person a little paranoid!”

McGonagall exhaled, but didn’t reply. Harry kept staring at her. Finally, she said, “You’re right. I’m sorry, Harry. You made an incredible sacrifice for all of us.”

“Yeah, well …” McGonagall’s apology had deflated most of Harry’s anger. He sat back down. Looking at the floor, he said, “I would have thought that seven years of service to Hogwarts would have earned me some time off.”

“It has earned you a lifetime off,” McGonagall said. “No child should be in such a position as you found yourself. But with Dumbledore gone … I am a very respected witch, but I do not carry as much authority as he did. Ever since the _Prophet_ first broke the news about Severus’ return and started digging up his past, the Howlers have not stopped coming. With every new article, we lost more students. Parents might have said, ‘As long as Dumbledore is there, Hogwarts is the best place for my child.’ They are not as steadfast in their belief in me, I am afraid.”

Harry looked up at her. “I’m sorry to hear that, Professor McGonagall. I had no idea.”

“Oh please, Harry!” McGonagall snapped. “After all we’ve been through together, you should call me by my first name.”

Harry was dumbstruck for a moment.

“It’s Minerva!” she said impatiently.

Harry couldn’t help but smile. “I know. Thank you, Professor. I mean … Minerva.”

The headmistress returned the smile. “Now that you are here, would you be willing to help?”

“I thought the situation had resolved itself?”

“No, not resolved. We have simply gotten more time. The tide is bound to turn against Severus again before long.”

Harry nodded slowly. He said, “You can ask me anything. I’ll be happy to answer all of your questions.”

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”

“What do you mean?”

“First of all, I’m a little concerned that your difficult relationship with Severus would undoubtedly influence your answers to their questions.”

“Who is ‘they’?”

“That’s the second point … Harry, it won’t be enough if you talk to me. You would have to talk to the press.”

“No.” Harry got up, shaking his head. He picked up his backpack and his cloak and made a step backwards.

“Harry, please wait. You can choose who to talk to. But you will be the only person people will believe. You are the only one, besides Severus himself, who saw what happened, who knows Severus’ full story. You are the only one who can help. Harry, you know what it feels like to be torn apart by the press, to have lies told about you. This is what Severus is going through right now. Rita Skeeter is involved.”

Harry exhaled and closed his eyes. Rita Skeeter was a menace. A menace with an extraordinary gift. She created the opinions that most British wizards believed to be their own. No one should be the subject of her articles, not even Snape.

“I can choose who to talk to?” he asked. Minerva nodded. “Then I want to talk to Xenophilius Lovegood.”

Minerva drew her eyebrows together. “I was afraid you’d say that. But we can work with that.” She looked at the grandfather clock that stood in her office. “Lessons will start soon. I suggest you go down to Hogsmeade and see Severus.”

“See him!” Harry had just agreed to talk to the press, wasn’t that enough to ask? Despite what Harry had seen in the Pensieve, he had no desire to look Snape in the eyes again. Six years of abuse had left their mark. When Harry thought about those black eyes, scanning him, seeing through him with nothing but cold hatred in them, his neck hairs stood up straight. How could he get out of this?

“Harry, please. I promise whatever you are afraid of won’t happen. You’ll see when you’re there. Please.”

Minerva McGonagall, tough but fair, who always knew the right thing to do, was pleading with Harry. He wanted to say no. But he couldn’t. “Fine,” he muttered. “I need to go to Hogsmeade, you said?”

“Yes.” Minerva’s relief was palpable. “Severus lives at the Hog’s Head. After all the trouble we thought it better if he didn’t live in the castle. Aberforth will show you to Severus’ room. Thank you, Harry.”

They left her office together. “Good luck,” she told him at the bottom of the spiral staircase. Harry wrapped his invisibility cloak around himself. He waited, standing close to the wall next to one of the gargoyles, until the thundering of hundreds of Hogwarts’ students’ feet had ceased. He set off towards the entrance hall and crossed the grounds, walking back towards Hogsmeade.

When he stood before the shabby inn, his heart was hammering in his throat. He pushed the door open. A sudden wave of adrenaline surged through him, but the bar was empty. Except for Aberforth, who was wiping goblets with a dirty rag.

“Potter,” he growled when he saw Harry. “Back from hiding? You’re looking a little worse for wear.”

_Hark who’s talking_ , Harry thought. Aberforth’s hair and beard were thrice as long as Harry’s.

“Through that door, up the stairs, first door to your left.”

Apparently, Aberforth was done talking to Harry. Harry would have loved to postpone his meeting with Snape. Indefinitely, if possible. But he walked, through the door and up the rickety staircase.

This was the room. Harry stood before the door, unable to move a muscle. Everything was quiet. Maybe Snape wasn’t in there. Maybe he’d gone out while Aberforth was in the back, so he hadn’t seen Snape leave. Harry strained his ears. Not a sound. He wasn’t in there. _Maybe I should leave_. But then Minerva would probably send him right back. He should at least knock so he could tell her for sure that Snape hadn’t been home. Harry knocked.

“Come in!”

Well, shit.

But that had definitely been a woman’s voice. He had the wrong door.

“It’s open!” the voice called again. Harry decided to quickly poke his head in and apologize. He opened the door, his mouth in a sheepish grin.

His face slackened. There he was. Snape. Sitting at a desk not two yards from Harry. Snape’s face was expressionless for a short moment. But then, he got up and looked at Harry. Harry stared back at him for a split second, then looked down. Back when Snape had repeatedly challenged Harry, Harry had always made a point of holding the man’s gaze, to show him that he couldn’t be intimidated. But this time, something was different.

“Hi there! Why don’t you come in and close the door?” This was uttered by the woman who Harry had heard before. He did as she had asked, but still avoided Snape’s gaze. Harry looked at the woman instead. She was wrapped in a towel, her chin-length dark hair wet. She walked towards Harry, offering her hand. What was going on here? Was Snape sharing this room with someone? Maybe he didn’t have enough money to get a room by himself?

“I’m Mette Vestergaard,” she said when Harry didn’t immediately react to her. “I teach Muggle Studies.” She spoke with a slight accent.

Harry finally took the offered hand and said, “Harry Potter.”

Her smile widened. Her mouth was the slightest bit crooked. It gave her face something mischievous. She said, “It’s so great to finally meet you! You look like you’ve had quite the adventure.”

Harry nodded mutely. His eyes were caught by the bed behind the young woman. It was a double bed. There was no other sleeping accommodation in the room. Did they both sleep in that bed, mere inches away from each other? Although Harry had always had the impression that Snape didn’t sleep much. Maybe he just worked at this desk all night and the woman – Mette – had the bed to herself. Or maybe they transformed the room at night?

Harry shook off these thoughts and looked at Mette again, a strained smile on his face. Why wouldn’t she just go and get dressed? Whatever country she was from apparently didn’t feel as strongly about proper attire as the British. She seemed to have read Harry’s mind, for she said, “I’ll just pop into the bathroom and get dressed. You and Severus go ahead and catch up.”

Right. Snape. He was still standing in the same spot, now slightly behind Harry. There was no further avoiding it. Harry turned to face his former teacher and stuck out his hand. Snape looked at it, then took it. “Professor,” Harry said. Snape looked up. All the muscles in Harry’s body tensed. He braced himself to look into those dark, empty tunnels and feel the intensity of Snape’s inquisitorial stare.

It didn’t happen. Snape didn’t try to X-ray him, his eyes didn’t challenge Harry to defend himself. It was as if Harry was looking at someone different. Someone who was … human. There was something alive in those eyes now.

With a pang, it all came rushing back. Harry had seen a flicker of this, the real Snape, a split second before the man’s life had been extinguished. All Harry had gone through that night, in the Shrieking Shack, in the Pensieve, in the Forbidden Forest, and, finally, during the battle, he had taken in stride, never to look back afterwards. He had fled from it all, had forbidden any thought of it to enter his mind. He had thought of his years at Hogwarts, his time with his friends, with Ginny. He had thought of Sirius and Hagrid, even of Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and Dudley. But not of Voldemort, not of the battle. Not of Fred, or Tonks, or Lupin. And not of Snape.

But now, when he saw the life in Snape’s eyes, he could not keep the memories at bay. Pain gripped his heart. He knew, now, that he could not run any longer.

“Harry,” Snape finally said. “It was good of you to come.”

Harry could not believe his ears. ’Harry’? ‘It was good of you to come’? This, together with the change in Snape’s whole … person had to be what Minerva had been talking about.

“Yes,” Harry finally replied, not knowing what else to say. Snape waved his wand and one of the other chairs in the room glided towards the desk. Snape gestured for Harry to sit. Harry said, “Thank you. Sir.”

Something happened to Snape’s face. He was smiling. Not sneering. Smiling. Only the faintest bit, but still. And the smile reached his eyes, too. Harry could not stop himself from gaping at his former teacher.

Snape inhaled deeply and said. “Please. Call me Severus.”

Harry stared.

Snape continued, saying, “I understand that you have mixed feelings towards me.”

“Sir, I wanted— I wanted to say thank you. For… all you did,” Harry blurted. “We couldn’t have defeated Voldemort without you.”

Snape slowly shook his head. “I did what was necessary. And it was, quite literally, a lifetime ago. But, Harry – the sacrifice you made was far greater than mine. My life had ended long before the night of the battle. It had ended the day your mother died.” Snape was earnest now, composed. “You, on the other hand, had all your life to live. You had – and have, I’m sure – people in your life who love you. You had everything to lose, but you willingly sacrificed it. I am the one who has to thank you.”

Harry blinked. Hearing these words coming out of Snape’s mouth was nothing short of a miracle.

For the first time, Snape looked down. “And there is something else—”

The bathroom door opened and Mette came out, fully dressed. She shot a glance at Harry and Snape and smiled, a little sadly, it seemed. Snape turned to look at her. There was something very familiar between these two. Sharing a room would do that, Harry supposed. “Should I give you some privacy?” she asked, looking at Harry.

“Er …” Would it be rude to say yes?

“Would you mind if Mette stayed?” Snape asked.

Harry had reckoned that Snape would definitely want her to leave. “No, it’s alright,” he said, bemused.

Snape continued, “I meant to tell you that I’m sorry for the way I treated you. And your friends. There is no excuse. I projected my animosity for your father onto you. I truly am sorry.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Mette sit down on the bed and retrieve a book from the nightstand. Could he speak freely with her in the room? Would Snape get angry if Harry made references to the unfortunate past that Snape and Harry’s father had shared? In a flash, a memory of a glass jar exploding behind him was vivid in Harry’s mind.

He tried to remain as vague as possible when he said, “I understand. Sort of. I mean, I saw the stuff with my father.” Harry held his breath. Had he said too much?

But Snape did not narrow his eyes. Did not clench his jaw or bare his teeth. Instead, his expression softened. “That’s kind of you. You don’t have to reply, though. It just needed to be said.”

Harry nodded. “Thanks.” Not knowing what else to say, Harry awkwardly looked around the room. His eyes were caught by Mette, sitting on the bed, her now dry hair hanging down as she bent low over her book.

“I saw you,” Harry uttered. Mette looked up, smiling quizzically. “I saw you this morning. You were jogging in the grounds and then you went to the dungeons. I thought you were the new Potions Mistress.”

Mette laughed. “I couldn’t if I tried.”

Snape made a small noise that might have been meant to contradict her.

Mette cocked her head, giving Snape a look of amused annoyance. To Harry she said, “I’m a Squib. Almost. I have some magic, but I can’t do wand magic. I went to the dungeons to pick up Sev. He still works down there sometimes, at all kinds of hours.”

Wait. ‘Sev’? The only person Harry had ever heard using that nickname for Snape was his own mother. He looked back and forth between Snape and Mette. Comprehension dawned on Mette’s face. “Oh, Minerva didn’t tell you! We’re dating. Severus and I,” she added when Harry still hadn’t gotten his incredulous stare under control.

“That’s ...” Harry started but didn’t know how to finish his sentence. This perfectly normal-looking, pleasant woman was _dating_ greasy old Snape? Then again – Harry looked back at Snape who was now smiling in earnest. His former teacher wasn’t greasy anymore. Harry forced himself to just look at the man like he would at any other person. If Harry was honest, Snape looked perfectly normal. It wasn’t just the absence of greasiness or the spark of life in his eyes. It was something more. The way he carried himself, the tone of his skin, the softness around his mouth.

The truth finally hit Harry with full force. Snape had changed. He truly had. A sudden wave of emotion washed over Harry, happy and painful all at once. He smiled and said, “I’m happy to hear that … Severus.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed it, be sure to spread the word <3


End file.
